The Dubrovzkan Half Breed

II

I peeked around the corner at Desya. He was laid back in a white under shirt, his head resting on the back of his chair. His muscular right arm was bleeding like a punctured wine skin.

I cleared my throat. "Um, z'drasvoitsa, Desya! I see your arm has reopened, eh?"

He turned his head to look at me. He had dark brown hair with warm gray eyes, his face was cleanly shaven, and he had a rather handsome face. His lips pulled back in a smile.

"Da, I was picking up my pack, but it was a little too heavy for what my arm could handle and-" He made a ripping sound with his mouth. "Next thing I know, I'm bleeding."

I winced in sympathy pain. "Ach. Alright then. Well, I've got a needle and thread here, so I'll stitch you up." I said. I rummaged through my bag and pulled out a spool of black thread and a freshly polished needle.

Desya extended his arm to me and watched me thread the needle. He didn't even seem worried when I pulled a cloth out of my bag and wetted it with alcohol. I gently dabbed the cut and he gave a quick, sharp hiss.

"Sorry." I said, my brows curving up apologetically.

He shook his head and forced a smile. "Niet, it's fine. I can get over a little alcohol in my cut." Desya closed his eyes and laid his head back while I cleaned the wound.

When that was over with, I picked up my needle and touched it to the skin just outside the laceration. He opened his eyes and focused his attention on me again. The pressure was on now it seemed and I tried not to shake as I pushed the sharpened end into his arm. He only flinched once, and that made me uneasy as I was sure I was hurting him. I looked up at Desya to apologize again.

But instead I stayed quiet, knowing that if Varshavsky was there, he would bark at me and say that I was talking too much or being too timid. I swallowed my comment and continued to work.

It was hard to ignore his gaze that was set so firmly on me. Desya appeared fascinated with my work, though I wasn't sure why. It was just sewing.

I cut the thread with my teeth and it made a snap. "There," I said. "That should hold it."

"Spasiba." he said. Provinsky turned a friendly smile to me. "It feels much better now."

"Oh, pazhalusta, it was only stitches. Just, try not to reopen that one, alright?"

He nodded swiftly and I dipped my head in response. "Well," I said. "Take care of yourself. Dasvidanya." With that, I went for the door.

"Wait, pazhalusta," he said before I was out. I turned back to see him, wondering if there was something I may have missed. "How long have you been working here?" he asked.

I blinked, a little taken aback. Was he going to criticize? "Nine months, sir."

"Really? Why haven't I seen you before?"

"Pazhalusta, sir, I cannot stay and converse." I said uneasily.

Desya turned himself so he sat sideways in the chair. "Don't worry; it will only be a moment." His tongue passed over his lips. "Where were you before now?"

My head tucked down shamefully. "... Head master wouldn't let me work on soldiers with serious wounds by myself until a few weeks ago. He always said I was too much of a dolt to do anything right."

"A dolt?" he said, voice a little indignant. "Rubbish. You did fine with me."

I offered him a smile. "Well, spasiba, sir." I said.

He winked. "Perhaps next time I get hurt, I'll tell them to send me to you."

I blushed at hits gesture and smiled a little bigger. "Well, let's hope you don't get hurt again."

We saluted and finally, I made it out of the room back to Aleksi for more work.